


The Sun Doesn't Necessarily Set, Sometimes It Just Disappears

by Birdbitch



Category: Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare, SHAKESPEARE William - Works
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:08:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4551747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Birdbitch/pseuds/Birdbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is not always Romeo who is sneaking in through windows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sun Doesn't Necessarily Set, Sometimes It Just Disappears

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "St. Paul and All That" by Frank O'Hara. This fic is a birthday present for tumblr user Liniochtai. It's been a while since I've touched these two characters, but I think it's alright.

It is not always Romeo who is sneaking in through windows.

Maybe somewhere along the lines of their ancestry, Montague blood got poisoned by romantics, making it burn somewhat hotter and faster than that of others. They were hot-blooded by nature, more passionate than politer company would have allowed if they weren’t as filthy rich as they were, and their hearts pumped bright, thick red ichor. Maybe once upon a time, they were sired by Jove.

Beads of sweat clung to the side of Benvolio’s face and he thought maybe, somewhere else, he must have inherited a specific brand of stupidness. Why else would he be climbing the vined trellis mounted against the side of Mercutio’s family home towards his window at night, when he could just as well visited during the day and accomplished (more or less) the same thing? Romeo, being younger and even worse, had encouraged him--”Benvolio, you’ve never wooed a lady before! Don’t you know how to be romantic?”--had made suggestions, and Benvolio, blinded because he hadn’t seen Mercutio in at least a week, thought it a good idea. He dug his nails into what he hoped was more plant than wood and sidled his feet over towards Mercutio’s balcony. It takes too much effort to do this sort of thing, he decided, but not before launching himself over the marble fence and landing gracelessly on the deck.

He was too loud and he knew it instantly. While he ran down the list of what might happen to him in his head--he probably wouldn’t be punished, or if he was, it wouldn’t be severely--the doors swung open and Mercutio came to stand there in a nightshirt. He looked like an angel, as he always has, and the light from his candle cast a gleam in his eye that briefly stopped Benvolio’s second guessing. Benvolio started to open his mouth but realized he didn’t really have anything much to say.

“What are you doing?”

“Romeo suggested it might be a good way to show how serious about my intentions towards you I am,” he said, and he wiped his face. He needed a haircut--damp dark curls were falling into his eyes, now, and he preferred when they didn’t. He thought about shaving, too, but he liked his beard enough--it was growing in to look more like his father’s than his uncle’s patchy version that Romeo had the misfortune to have as well.

Mercutio looked at him and helped him up. “When have you ever listened to Romeo about anything?” he asked.

“When you were away for two weeks without sending any word of your status.”

“Two weeks isn’t--” There were lights coming on from other windows at that point, and Mercutio frowned. “Are you coming in or not?”

Benvolio followed him in, closing the doors behind them himself. “It felt like a lifetime,” he tried to explain, and Mercutio raised an eyebrow at him. “Have you ever had to listen to Romeo for two weeks straight without anyone who could stop him?”

It got him an almost smile. “I’m fortunate enough to have not.” He looked at Benvolio and raised his hands to start undoing his shirt as if by second nature. “Tell me, Benvolio, why were you trying to sneak into my room at such an hour? The only assumption I could make is that you might be here to steal something, but what could one of the richest men in Verona possibly need that he couldn’t buy?”

“Maybe I’m here to steal a kiss,” Benvolio said, and he leaned down to try--but Mercutio pulled away just in time to avoid him. “Mercutio, please.”

“Only bad thieves beg,” Mercutio answered, and he made to turn away and run before Benvolio wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him close.

“Then I won’t beg,” he said, and he kissed Mercutio’s neck, waited for him to tilt it so that he could plant the kisses better on the skin. If there ever burned a fire in Benvolio (“He of the Phlegmatic Temperament!”) it was because Mercutio stoked it.

“Oh?” Mercutio asked, and Benvolio squeezed the arm around him. “I doubt then that you’re here to steal just a kiss, if you’re really related to the gods.”

“The gods eat their own children,” Benvolio answered before turning Mercutio in his arms and kissing his mouth until it became red.

“You kiss like you’re devouring me.”

“I have been starving for two weeks.” Mercutio’s hands, usually nimble and quick, fumbled in undoing the ties on Benvolio’s shirt and britches. Benvolio stopped him, took his hands and kissed them. “Leave them.” He kissed Mercutio again, dropped his hands and pulled him away from the door, where anyone could have still looked in and observed them. “It isn’t as though I’m wearing as many clothes as usual.”

Mercutio laughs. “Did Romeo warn you that climbing to a lady’s balcony might ruin a good doublet.” He didn’t want to give Mercutio the satisfaction in knowing that, yes, Romeo had mentioned that, though Benvolio had run around enough know know it was easier to be active when wearing as few articles of clothing as possible. In not saying anything, however, he answered Mercutio’s question and got a laugh.

“Perhaps I was too eager to see to you to get fully dressed as I should have,” Benvolio said, and he started to pull away. Mercutio stopped him, reached a hand up to touch his face and scratch his beard hair gently. Benvolio grabbed the hand and kissed the palm. “Maybe I missed you more than I should have.”

“Impossible,” Mercutio answered. He surged forward and kissed Benvolio, waited for Benvolio to lift him and carry him back to bed. “You would have loved the country, I think. It’s so slow out there, it would have been the perfect pace.”

“I am not slow,” Benvolio said, and with Mercutio down on his back, he rolled his hips to try to prove it. “I am the only person who keeps up with you.”

The only person, maybe, stupid enough to try to break into his room knowing that the palace is always too guarded to really ever successfully sneak in, too, maybe. Tybalt, years ago, had tried to do what Benvolio has successfully accomplished, and it took months for the Capulets to get back in Escalus’s good graces. He knew better to bring it up, though, and kissed the side of Mercutio’s face instead.

“Then keep up, dear Benvolio.” Mercutio turned them and straddled Benvolio’s hips. He rocked down, grinding against Benvolio and dragging a groan from the man’s throat. “Don’t make me think you haven’t missed me while I’ve been away.”

 

 


End file.
